Silent Night
by Ammanalien
Summary: Yes, it's that time of year again... a good deed leads to a Christmas whump for our favourite astrofizz... NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

My Christmas gift to all you Rodney whumpers out there. I hope you like it!

Silent Night 

Chapter 1 : "'Tis the Season to be Jolly..."

oOo

Rodney pressed delete and sent yet another Christmas comedy e-mail to the trash; did anyone really think they were cute? As he hit the key, the chorus line of smiling reindeer disappeared with a beep in a highly satisfactory manner, along with the caption, "Seasons Greetings from all in Maintenance".

He stretched, and looked listlessly around the lab; he was the only occupant. Lights were on and although it was still early, already the evening was drawing in. This planet's winter had matched earth's this year and the Christmas season was cool, the evenings dark. It made him strangely home sick.

He got to his feet and stretched again; _God this place is a mess..._

Half-eaten sandwiches were abandoned on a bench, coffee cups were sitting in splashes of brown liquid... _yeuch_... there was even the odd item of clothing wrapped around a stool or work station. With a curse, he tripped over one of Zelenka's running shoes. _All gone off to get ready for the party and everything else can go hang_, he thought resignedly, _sounds about right._

It was Christmas Eve, not the first they had spent in Atlantis, but the first where they weren't under attack and facing annihilation. This was a Christmas they could enjoy; the galaxy was peaceful for the moment.

There was a note in Radek's hand, taped to his monitor:

"Don't be party poop... SEE YOU LATER!!!"

It would have made him smile, had it not been so very unfair; they had all assumed he hated Christmas. Every single one of them. Maybe because he was such a sourpuss under most circumstances. Had anyone even bothered to ask him? John had referred to him as Scrooge before, but that had more to do with him not sharing his chocolate stash than with anything else.

Just that morning, sitting at breakfast both eating oatmeal and sipping hot coffee, John had reminded him about that night's festivities.

"Christmas Eve, Rodney, everyone who can be there, will be there... make sure that includes you."

It was not said unkindly, and Sheppard had smiled, but it had prickled him nonetheless.

At home, the Holidays had always been a good time for him. White Christmases in Toronto...food, drink, gifts, family. Sitting around the fire, watching old movies. The smell of baking - his mother had loved to bake - and turkey spitting and hissing in the oven. It was only after he left, that things got lonelier. He'd been on bad terms with his father for a while and it was easier to stay away than face animosity for two weeks every December.

Of course his sister had never forgiven him, it was just one more nail in the coffin that had come to signify their relationship.

Yes, it had been a good few years since he'd celebrated the season in any big way. Oddly, he was looking forward to this party tonight; even though he didn't relish the social thing, he couldn't help being warmed by thoughts of mulled wine, mince pies and the like - they had gone citrus-free just for him, apparently.

John had said, "We're counting on you Rodney, Carson made sure everything would be perfectly safe... so don't let us down"

A flashing console distracted him for a moment and his face grew thoughtful; a finger rubbed the side of his nose.

"Hmm... what are you, then?", he asked the panel, immediately adjusting several readouts and switches.

An alarm whined lazily... his brows knit, he sat heavily and whizzed his chair across to the end of the row.

He scanned the glowing bank of flickering colours in front of him, his eyebrows lifting, as understanding dawned.

"Blockage", he announced to the empty room, "_crap_...", he sighed. One of the water supply lines was blocked again; last time it had been a piece of debris from a damaged filter, probably the same again. He silently cursed those whose job it had been to clear the whole system last time. This really shouldn't be happening again.

There would be no party for someone tonight, he thought, with some measure of satisfaction. Maybe they'd fix it properly this time...

He rubbed at his eyes and relented a little. It was a minor fault, he'd overseen such a repair before, there was no reason why he shouldn't just go out there and fix it himself.

Do the selfless thing... after all, it was Christmas.

He'd still be back in time for cake.

Now decided on a course of action, he swiped the note book page stuck to his monitor and turned it over; black ink had bled a little through to the back, but it was still usable.

He scribbled his message with a red, almost-spent marker; despite being fluffy-looking it was legible. He slapped it down on the bench next to Radek's computer.

Discarding the marker with a plastic clatter, he went across to one of the large closets at the back of the room, and opened the double doors.

It was here that they kept some pre-filled kit bags containing equipment for specific and not so specific jobs. Rodney was now rummaging through the untidy contents.

He selected a large blue one marked by a cloth tag saying, "Plumbing". He also took a small roll of canvas, holding a variety of compact all-purpose tools. This last he stuffed awkwardly into his pants pocket where it was really too bulky to be comfortable.

Then, turning on his heel, he stopped briefly at a console, flipped off the alarm, and made for the door.

As he snagged his jacket and whirled it over his shoulder hooked onto one finger, he didn't see the note waft silently from the bench.

Already striding away, it went unnoticed as it fluttered gently down onto the top of one smelly old Reebok.

He got to the door, snicked off the lights and then froze; _better take a radio, 'cos you never know,_ he thought, and he turned back into the darkened room. His ear piece was there... on his desk, he could see it, just catching the light.

There was a crash, and a loud and colourful expletive, as he was almost brought down by a lowly running shoe... again.

Cursing it's owner fervently, he kicked the offending footwear violently under the bench, and left.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading... next chapter tomorrow!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 : "So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody's having fun!"

oOo

The hallways were quiet as he made his way out from the central hub of the city.

He loved Atlantis at night; as the city slept, its living pulse was always there, just beneath the surface. John could sense it easily; Rodney had more trouble reaching out with his mind, but it was still there... comforting... large... permanent.

As he passed personnel quarters he could hear laughter and the sound of bells jingling. He smirked to himself; maybe it was Ronon, wearing the reindeer antlers that Radek had given him. He could just imagine the Satedan's blank expression beneath them!

Resettling his shoulder against the heavy bag, he rounded the corner at the end of the passage, and entered the cooler and more dimly lit outer halls. These were the areas where they could save some of their precious energy. Being rarely frequented, these rooms and passages had only limited power, and he was glad he'd thought to wear his jacket.

He walked for around twenty minutes. The bag cut into his shoulder and he almost wished he hadn't brought the thing; he probably wouldn't need it anyway, seeing as the defect was a minor one, but he'd been caught out before when unprepared so he just switched the bag to the other shoulder and continued on his way.

It was eerily still; even the water features that graced the inner halls were deactivated in these areas. Out here, ancient plants still cast their skeletal shadows across the floor where he walked. His footfalls, although soft, echoed across the dusty marble.

All was silent, but for the ever present hum of the city.

Rodney smiled as he remembered a line of verse from his childhood:

"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse."

His spirits were high; it was Christmas Eve, he would return triumphant after fixing this little problem and bask in festive joy for the rest of the evening.

He had arrived at last at his destination; a routing station and pump house in a lofty room off the main corridor. Panels stood open from the last time they had encountered this fault, almost as if someone had known they'd be making the journey again.

Dumping his heavy bag gratefully, he rubbed at his shoulder, already inspecting the equipment in front of him with narrowed eyes.

Not all the city water passed through here; there were several such stations, but it was this one that seemed to cause the most trouble. There were readouts here and there and two or three inspection windows where bubbling liquid could be seen.

His mouth twisted; he was puzzled.

The fault was not in this section. Indications were, it was further out.. out into unexplored territory. There were rules about that, and they gave him pause; the city was vast, they had explored and secured only a small fraction of it, more or less as need allowed. It was against regulations to go out there alone. But he was here.. now, probably only a few minutes walk away from the root of the problem. What could be the harm?

Hauling up the bag once more, a flashlight appeared in his hand. He played it over the high pipe work and bulkheads.

Then, with the relevant conduit in his sights he followed it down a dark and chilly hallway, leaving all that was familiar behind him.

oOo

He had reached the limit of the long hallway he was on. This was the sixth such hallway he had walked down and still no sign of the next pump room. It was colder here, too, which was beginning to annoy him as he wore only his light jacket.

As he rounded the corner at the end, though, he was brought up short, rooted to the spot in open-mouthed wonder. After so long walking in the narrow hallways, the wide space that was now in front of him, literally took his breath. It was a huge area, tiled and level, and curving over it like a gigantic turtle shell, was... a dome.

It was high... _wow, was it high_ - high as a house? Maybe two houses. It was mostly empty, save for a few benches and low tables dotted around. In parts, the walls extended upwards maybe twelve or fifteen feet before the translucent glass of the main structure began. But in many places the glass came down to the floor and the view beyond, namely the twinkling spires and towers of Atlantis, was a spectacular one.

Where walls met floor there were more pieces of furniture and Rodney could see two or three passages leading off from the dome, in addition to the one he had arrived from.

Something hummed off to his right, and it wasn't the familiar song of Atlantis.

_Huh, well would you look at that..._

It looked like a shield generator, smaller than any he had seen before, but a shield nonetheless. And with its own power supply too, by the look of it - this was quite a discovery. Maybe there were other areas of the city where additional power could be found.

The dome was cicular, regular and made entirely from glass - or what looked like glass. How, though, glass could support itself on such a huge scale, he was unsure. The answer could be attributable to the shield; maybe it prevented damage and also provided much-needed structural support.

If the shield failed, though? Well, it was likely the whole thing would come down, which was not a comforting thought as Rodney stood gazing upward, his head thrown back. He had walked unknowingly right into the centre of the circular space, in a kind of awe-struck trance.

Yes, its structure was incredible, but it was the artistry of the decoration that had Rodney captivated.

The many-coloured panes that made up the whole, were outlined in black and gold, forming intricate patterns and pictures: flowers, leaves, all manner of greenery, the outlines of trees. There were lanscapes, mountains, towering cliffs, spectacular alien scenery.

All at once a memory came back to him...

A neighbour of his, a Miss Fox, (old biddy type, dressed in tweed), grabbed him by the collar one Sunday morning and took him off to church with her. He didn't know why at the time.

They'd always had interesting chats... the two of them; she seemed intrigued by his twelve year old self, and it impressed Rodney that she could swear like a sailor, and still be able to explain quantum theory.

He clipped her hedges in the summer, shovelled her snow in the winter and when she was short of money, she paid him in cigarettes. The fact that he didn't smoke - had never smoked - was not the point; the fact alone that she would pay _him_ in _cigarettes_ was the height of coolness and so very worth it.

Often, she would be sitting on her front step, chain-smoking menthols, and reading Scientific American, as he stepped from the school bus. Now and again she would have an outburst of indignation about something she had just read, and the cigarette would fly from her lips like a missile.

She was an unlikely church goer in his opinion, so when he asked her for the umpteenth time where she went to every Sunday morning, she took him to Elm Ridge United Church - whether he had wanted to go or not.

The church was an ugly building with one redeeming feature; its windows... colourful stained glass, depicting bible scenes and the unfortunate lives of the saints.

After his initial indignation at being abducted, he was surprised to find that he was intrigued by the place and the odd assortment of people who made up the congregation.

He began to go every week. He'd sit in the pew; listen, watch and sometimes even mouth the words to the shrilly delivered hymns. It fascinated and at the same time mystified him. Especially as he considered the elderly lady one of the smartest people he knew. Why else would he bother with her - or indeed, she bother with him?

Miss Fox would see his sceptical looks and sometimes she would whip off her wiry spectacles and pin him with her watery eyes.

One day she said, "There are some things, young man, that at my age, you have to take on trust." She said the _young man_ part like she was a judge sentencing a criminal.

"It's rubbish, and you know it", he scoffed.

"Where do we go, then?", she demanded of him."When we die?"

"Nowhere,", he answered immediately and shrugged.

"Well... I prefer to believe otherwise. Maybe one day you'll change your mind, Rodney"

She always called him Rodney... she said Meredith was a girl's name.

After the curiosity and novelty value had faded, he continued to go... couldn't explain to himself why.

Maybe it was the tea and cookies after every service...

...or maybe it was the windows, alive with colour, vibrant and real. The stained glass bringing to life what to Rodney, was a place of gloom and stagnation.

And this was what he saw now; a vast canopy, richly coloured, like a huge Tiffany glass lampshade, enclosing the area he was in. It was staggering...

_Here's where the party should be_, he thought with a smile, bringing out a water bottle and sipping on it... this was a gathering place, of long ago. Maybe the Ancients weren't as straight-laced as they had first thought.

Replacing the bottle, he gazed aloft open-mouthed, his neck beginning to ache with the angle such a view required.

It reminded him somewhat of one of those really impressive super shopping malls. There were hanging globes, suspended from the surface of the dome, made of glass and metal. Huge planters, spilling over at one time with lush greenery, now held only long strawlike straggles, dessicated by time.

It was truly an astounding sight, and he reluctantly dragged his attention away, massaging his neck with one hand and dropping the heavy bag from the other. He did a slow three-sixty, searching for any signs of pipe work or tell tale hardware. He sighed; if he didn't find what he was looking for soon, he would be forced to give up and return defeated.

As his stomach gurgled plaintively, his mind conjured up a vision of cake, white-iced and sparkling. A little gasp of yearning escaped him.

He checked his wrist; time was wasting and he resolved to find the problem and fix it, before the party was over and his slice of heaven was consigned to the garbage.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your encouraging reviews... you guys are so good to me!

Look out for Chapter 3 tomorrow - hopefully!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 : "Away in a manger.."

oOo

Perched atop a mess table with an arm full of mini lights, Ronon was a strange sight. Sheppard smiled and sat down on the edge of another table, next to a punch bowl and a sparkling array of glass cups. Radek was standing close by with an expression that John could only describe as...

...terrified.

"Okay, if this isn't right, then forget it, doc... I don't give a damn!", the Satedan hissed through gritted teeth as he stretched to reach a high corner.

They had an odd relationship - Ronon and Radek - John could never decide if it was just harmless banter or if they really hated each other; he hoped it was the former.

"Hey... anyone seen McKay?", he asked.

"He was in the lab this afternoon... he was busy as usual", said Zelenka, sounding harrassed, himself carrying a huge knot of Christmas lights.

John's brows furrowed, "He's coming, though... right?"

"I don't know... spent most of the afternoon pulling crystals from under his desk - I left him a note", Radek said in an off-hand way that probably meant he had other things on his mind right now... big Satedans for one.

"Well, I guess that's all we can do...", said John half to himself. He was disappointed; it was looking like Rodney had gone back on his assurances, and that he would not be at the party tonight. But there was still time... and he would give the doctor the benefit of the doubt - for now anyway.

oOo

It was here, in this place of beauty and light, that Rodney did indeed find his pumping station. On the periphery, but still beneath the umbrella of the dome. It was right next to one of the hallways leading away from the circular space.

Unlike the others he had seen, this was not within a room, but the banks of dials and inspection windows were arranged in a long, low console that hugged the wall and ran for about twenty feet.

About fifteen feet up, was a narrow ledge and on the wall, next to a metallic planter, was a laptop sized control panel. It was clipped onto a hook and had a corkscrew of wire coming from it, like an old fashioned telephone cord.

He shook his head at the impracticality of the Ancients... why put the controls so high up and with no means of getting to them? They must have had some kind of futuristic ladder. He chuckled to himself as he imagined them using anti-grav boots to execute the simplest of repairs.

If he could get up to that panel, he could lower it down; the wire would stretch all the way to the ground and he could do all his adjustments safely on terra firma. All it really needed was a system flush, and then a full reset; no biggie...

He cast around for some way up there; yes, a ladder would be nice. Around the walls he noticed several rectangular platforms, around eight feet long and affixed to the dome itself by one long side. They looked like access decks, but to Rodney, they didn't seem to access anything much.

_Crazy Ancients..._

An idea came to him, and he brightened.

He touched his radio... nothing.

Dammit... of course : the shield prevents radio communication. He trudged back towards the long hallway, and stopped at the very edge of the structure. He tried again.

Success...

"Radek, I need a ladder... a big one. Can you get one from the stores... meet me here?"

Jingly jangly music, unintelligible and hissing, assailed his ear and made him wince.

"What? Rodney, I can't hear you... you need what... a _letter_?"

"No! A ladder! From the stores..."

There were chuckles, giggles, distinctly female in nature, and Rodney rolled his eyes.

"_Doors_? Look, Rodney... is Christmas... leave all that. Come... away from the lab and join party..."

The laughter and squeaky giggles rose to a crescendo.. and in the background.. was that _bagpipes_?

"Ah.. forget it!", he retorted and slapped at his ear, feeling irritated.

Would no one listen to him?

Well, he would just have to do without the ladder... he tried to convince himself it didn't look too bad. Looking carefully now, he could envision a route of sorts. There appeared to be plenty to hold onto, and it wasn't incredibly high - although he wouldn't like to fall from that height.

Beneath the panel that was his goal, was one of the platforms, railed off and, as before, with no purpose he could fathom. It was only a few feet from the ground. He would begin his climb there.

To the left of this, huge large bore pipes entered at floor level and rose vertically for a good way before veering off through the wall. Yes, easy - it would be easy...

_Who the hell are you kidding?,_ he suddenly thought, shaking his head in disbelief. He'd never been one for climbing, in fact he didn't like the idea of any part of him leaving the ground. But it was either suck it up and get scrambling, or return home in shame.

_I can do this_, he said to himself.

He could climb onto the platform, and, following the pipework on the left, get himself safely onto the ledge. Then, he would move across to the right, along the ledge, holding onto the planter box that was conveniently situated there.

He looked down at his feet and considered removing his shoes, it might just make it easier to grip. No, he decided, he wasn't a monkey... having his toes available would make no difference.

He patted his pocket, assuring himself that he still had his small toolkit, and heaved himself up onto the long, narrow platform. His feet clanged on the grating, then he scrambled over the side and onto the pipes. Taking a good hold of the large brackets securing them to the wall, he began to climb.

He tried not to think of the height... it did seem higher than he had first thought, so he tried to focus on his hands and keeping as close to the wall as possible.

Without too much trouble, and with only a slightly pounding heart, he found that he had reached the ledge and was now in sight of his goal, hanging there just past the large metal planter box. He moved past the box slowly; okay... so far so good. He carefully unhooked the device and, dangling it by its coiled wire, lowered it until it was near as dammit on top of the platform where he had begun his ascent. Now all he had to do was climb down. Never quite so easy as climbing up, though, was it...

He slowly put himself into reverse, but as his right foot came down it slipped against the lip of the ledge, and for a moment his balance deserted him, his heart literally in his mouth.

Spooked, he grabbed at the corner of the sturdy planter box. It was a trough really, big enough for the feeding of large farm animals; it looked like a modern version of an enamel bath tub.

It was then, that it all started to go very badly wrong.

Quite unexpectedly, the shiny planter protested his grip and it creaked and groaned as metal shifted and buckled; maybe it was corroded behind, where he couldn't see, maybe it simply could not support his weight. He uttered an involuntary, "Woah...!"

Suddenly, his firm anchor looked like nothing of the sort, and his pulse climbed up a notch along with his worry. He twisted carefully, inching backwards, taking his hands off the structure, even as he felt it shiver beneath his fingertips. He hooked an elbow around a nearby pipe.

_Time to go,_ he thought, and he looked back the way he'd first come. A harsh rending sound from behind, though, demanded his attention, and he turned; there was no pressure at all on the planter now, but it seemed that the damage was already done.

With one more shudder and shriek, he watched helplessly as it came swinging free. It swung his way at high speed, pivoting by its nearest corner, and there was nowhere he could go to avoid it. Catching him solidly under the ribs, his elbow flew from around the pipe and he was knocked from his perch like a coconut from a shy.

There was a brief moment of weightlessness, as his arms windmilled uselessly. Then he saw stars as his back hit solid metal first, followed by his head, the force jarring and shocking his whole body into a kind of aching numbness.

Above him, dimly, through teary eyes, he could see the planter, still swinging, lazily, anchored by its one good corner. Old earth and other crap was descending like dirty snowflakes. It was mesmerising and for a few seconds he just lay there panting, watching the dust settle on him.

_That's one way to get down,_ he thought. Thank God he had fallen little over ten feet... any more and he could have been killed. He had landed on the steely mesh surface of the platform. It didn't feel like he'd hurt himself too severely... a crack on the head, a bruised rib or two. His body hummed as if full of static electricity; his muscles and nerves were asleep, it seemed, and he knew that for the time being anyway, he couldn't move.

His eyes were still on the planter box... it really was huge; heavy, solid... like a coffin. He watched it slow down, creaking and shifting in a new way... a worrying way.

Suddenly, he felt sick; something tightened, vice-like in his chest. It was hard to breathe.

His eyes flicked; from the platform to the planter, from the planter to the platform... the platform where he lay.

He made a huge effort, now, to move, realising with grim certainty what was about to happen, and knowing he could do nothing to stop it. His body, though, was unresponsive, still stunned by the impact of his violent descent.

Time slowed and all he could do was watch as the pendulum that hung above him became almost still, poised in a fragment of time, time that he had precious little of...

He screamed at his body to respond, recognising this was his own death he was being forced to watch. He felt tingling... he felt his hands and arms come back, so he desperately tried to slide his butt up by threading clumsy fingers through the open grating of the platform.

He had gained maybe half a meter, almost sobbing with desperation and cold fear, when the fatigued piece of metal that was holding planter to wall, finally sheared, and it fell.

It wasn't easy to watch, so he didn't. He thought how meaningless this death would be... meaningless and stupid, and all for the want of a ladder.

Maybe he'd got far enough... maybe he hadn't... his eyes squeezed tighter and he braced himself for he knew not what...

There was a _whoosh_- _thwack... _the sickening crunch of what could only be fracturing bone... and the thought of that, along with the blinding pain that blossomed in his right leg, ripped away his consciousness in one black, horrifying second.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading! Poor Rodney, I do _bad_ things to him...

Chapter 4 coming soon... xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 : "Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by..."

oOo

'Jingle bells _thump_, jingle bells _thump_, jingle all the way _thump thump thump...'_

His heart was beating, _thump, thump, thump;_ it was playing jingle bells in his chest, but Rodney had no Christmas spirit to sing along.

He was wet; there was a nasty, sour smell, unmistakable and gross; he'd thrown up on himself like an infant. The smell was almost enough to start him off again, but he managed to swallow the nausea down.

_What had happened?_ Oh.. yeah.. right. He fell, something fell with him and that something was now laying across his right leg.

Strange how it didn't hurt right now... he only knew it was there because he could feel the vague coldness of metal on his shin, could see in the periphery of his vision the huge bulk of the box. He could move his left leg; it was uninjured as far as he could tell.

He didn't want to see any more than that.

Sudden panic gripped him; _oh God... was it off?_ Had he lost his leg? Maybe it didn't hurt because it was no longer... attached. He managed to raise his head a little, so he bit back horror and dread and steeled himself to look.

The planter had come down virtually straight and its leading edge, which happened to be its shortest, had slammed down into his lower leg, midway between knee and ankle. The dark blue of his pants was stained even darker; from the cold metallic face of the box, glinting in the half light, up as far as his knee. Whatever old crap had been in there, sustaining the plants at one time, had spilled out and mostly fallen through the grating beneath him. Some of it sat in piles on his clothing.

He thought his leg was still intact.. well, mostly intact; the fleshy part of his calf was untouched, it was his shin that had suffered the impact.

The fact that it wasn't actually severed - he could see that it wasn't - and that his other leg was unscathed, was a result of the box slewing into the railing, deflecting and ultimately stopping its downward motion.

He really couldn't see much, so with one trembling hand, he slowly pulled the blood-soaked and dirty fabric from the point of impact; it looked odd, like his leg had taken a bite of the planter.

A wave of sickness washed over him...

The edge of the planter was embedded in his shin bone, and it was only after realising this terrible fact, that the pain began in earnest. He spent a long time biting back the rising bile in his throat, gasping through nausea and faintness. Sometime after that, exhausted by the very effort of being awake, he thankfully lost consciousness.

oOo

A hazy moon was rising over the ocean. In the mess hall, citrus-free punch was being served, and strings of lights shone out through the windows and across the city.

Rodney didn't see them though... he still lay where he had fallen, under the sparkling dome.

His sweaty forehead was pressed to his upper arm, the lower part dangled over the side of the platform, in between it and the wall... his arm was numb. He was breathing heavily into the fabric at his left shoulder, now and again allowing a whimper to escape. He was laying twisted having clawed and squirmed against the pain for what seemed an eternity. He was embarassed to admit, even to himself, that he had chewed on this fabric more than once over the last few desperate hours. He could hear his own raspy breathing, and fancied that he could also hear the bump of the heartbeat in his right knee as it carried his life blood out of his body, to drip onto the floor below.

He wished he could have stayed unconscious, but pain and thirst had woken him eventually.

_What time was it?_ He raised his wrist and blinked at his watch, willing the blurry face to come into focus. It didn't, and he let his arm flop back to the deck with a clang.

From the look of the light it was already seven... maybe eight o'clock.

Really, he wasn't doing so well...

He wanted to weep; he wasn't a baby, but this was just too much agony to handle and knowing the cause, made it even worse.

He daren't move too much, although the temptation to do so was almost unbearable. If he moved his lower body, the box could dislodge and the weight of the thing might take it all the way through the bone, and then...

_Well,_ he thought, _then... that would be the end._

He was breathing heavily, noisily... he felt hot, but chilled at the same time. His head was fuzzy and packed with a cold fog.

He'd never been delirious from pain... is this what it felt like? Like a dream, but not a dream... as if his mind had been hijacked, by unrelenting and strength-sapping agony.

Drifting as he was in this haze of misery, his senses seemed hyper-aware; he tasted the air that was sucked across his dry tongue, and smelled every detail of where he was; the damp cloth under his cheek, the dusty surface where he lay, the sharp and metallic tang of blood... the reek of sickness. There was such a pounding and a pressure in his head, he felt like his eyeballs would burst.

He was bleeding; he knew that. How badly, he couldn't be sure, but his injury was a severe one and time was not on his side. He could die here... today... now.. if he didn't think of something.

The others would come... eventually. But he might not have that long, and he certainly didn't _want_ to wait that long.

There had to be something... something he could do.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small roll of tools. He dropped the canvas onto his chest and proceeded to unroll it carefully. There were screwdrivers, pliers, all manner of probes, spikes and files, but nothing that could possibly help him now. He crumpled and discarded it; it slid down the side of his chest and lay by his elbow.

His radio was useless here under the dome, but what he needed was a signal, a way to contact the others, bring them out here.

He opened his eyes, unaware that they had been closed.

At the other end of the platform, behind the planter, was the panel... the panel that controlled water flow; it was dangling by its coiled wire, barely four feet away. But it could just as well have been four miles, because there was no way he could get to it. If he had access to that, then he could tamper with the supply, cause disruptions. Someone would notice.

But it just dangled there, out of reach... laughing at him...

_Bastard... get over here...,_ he ordered, wildly.

When had he started talking to inanimate objects? He wasn't sure. It was working though, and he watched fascinated and not a little smugly, as the panel began to swing slowly from side to side.

He could hear Jingle Bells again, and its ringing tune expanded to fill his head, like that foamy stuff they put between walls. It filled every tiny space with fluffiness, and he grinned to himself.

It swung closer now, tantalisingly near and he reached a wavering hand to catch it. Puzzled, he found his hand empty and he blinked at it stupidly.

He felt like he was moving, now... the platform swinging, swooping nauseatingly, again and again, and all the time the console would hover just out of reach.

A voice next, clear and strong, and familiar...

"He's not real, you idiot." He was in his sister's room... pink carpet and Barbie duvet cover. Tin foil snowflakes graced the walls; there was a stocking hanging at the foot of the bed.

"I saw him! I saw him - and - and - Mom told me it was him, you're a liar, Meredith McKay!", Jeannie squawked, red-faced and tearful.

He flashed a nasty smile at her and said,

"You really think, of all the shopping malls in all the world, he came to ours? Is that what you _really_ think?", he looked down on the small blonde head of his sister.

"I feel sorry for you. You see what you want to see... it's not real", he added with a scowl.

Jeannie pouted.

"Meredith, I hate you!"

And the vision was gone, he was back on the cold metal of the platform, millions of miles from earth and years away from that shameful memory of childhood.

There was the panel, where it was before, where it had always been... out of reach. He let his hand fall to the metal of the platform; his head fell back too, and pain flared along with despair.

_Fantasies can never help you. Life is hard and then you die... oh, yes, it's official._

"It's not real. You see what you want to see... it's not real", he whispered, suddenly so weary and frustrated he felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes.

_Someone... please... find me._

oOo

TBC and thanks for taking time out from your busy Christmas preparations to review!

Look out for more tomorrow - Christmas Eve.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 : "We hear the Christmas Angels their great glad tidings tell..."

oOo

It was bitter on his lips... bitter, and cold. There was an odd familiarity, though, which was very strange. He took another long drag, felt the rush of pseudo-nicotine and his body relaxing against the tension that held him.

It all felt very real and.. _oh, God_, he rejoiced in it.

A cough took him by surprise and he spluttered feebly past the cigarette in his mouth.

"Oh, for Christ's sake... I always knew you didn't smoke them, Rodney...", a voice snapped, chidingly.

No, it wasn't possible...

Someone stood looking at him, from over the railing... it was impossible, not least because there was nothing to stand on over there, so whoever it was that was slouching next to him... they were levitating.

"So what are you then? Ghost of Christmas Past?", he asked the figure that leaned closer, now, staring at him.

The apparition pulled on its own cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of pungent smelling smoke. It wore an over-sized tweed suit, cream silk shirt and gold-wired glasses; its arms were draped on top of the black metal rail, and its body seemed watery and indistinct... to Rodney, it was almost translucent.

"You know I don't believe in ghosts, kid, and, what's more to the point, neither do you.", it stated.

"And yet... here you are", Rodney answered, with a croaky laugh. It was hard to talk; his throat was paper dry, his mouth worse, but he certainly had nothing better to do.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to drag you kicking and screaming into the next life."

The snarky half-grin fell from his face, leaving dread in its place...

"Is that where you come from? The next life?", he gulped.

Then she laughed, this spectre from long ago, "Hey, I was old when you knew me... you're the genius... you do the math. Besides...", and she took another long drag on her cigarette, "... smoking is _very_ bad for your health".

_So, she's dead_, he thought... where did that leave him?

"You still can't be here... whether you're alive or... d-dead", he managed to scoff weakly.

"No, I guess not..." Miss Fox's eyes twinkled at him, over the rims of her spectacles, and she added, with a wink, "...and yet, here I am."

He looked down at his right hand lying on his chest, the fingers looked thin and very starkly white, the cigarette sticking out between them, sending out tendrils of smoke.

"I have to say, Rodney, you don't look too good..."

Well, that was just rude, wasn't it...,"Why _are_ you here?", he asked suspiciously.

Her answer was to say nothing, but she pursed her lips and blew smoke purposefully at him.

"Don't know why you bothered with me back then... why're you bothering now?", he asked again. The apparition raised its eyebrows.

"Don't you know why? Do you still not know the real reason?", replied the translucent Miss Fox.

"You wanted to convert me.. didn't you?" That's what he had always assumed, that she was trying to bring him into the fold.

"Never assume, Rodney, it makes an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me'...", she said, apparently reading his mind... or had he said it aloud?

She laughed, but her face was sad and she suddenly looked very old.

"No, Rodney, I didn't want to convert you", she said evenly. "I simply wanted company... your company. I was a lonely old woman, you knew that - they're _your_ words... is it so hard to believe that you were important to me? That you could be important to _someone_?"

"I'm not important... never was..."

"Have some faith, kid..."

"I thought we agreed... never to me-mention the 'F' word...", he replied sourly.

"They will come for you, Rodney..."

Well, that was just the last straw, wasn't it... he knew Sheppard would come... and the others... they were friends weren't they? But they didn't know what had happened and they didn't know where he was...

"Oh, for... I know _that_!", he spluttered, "Thing is, they don't know I'm here, which is problematic to say the least!",

Very patiently, which was unlike her, Rodney thought, she said, "You're not thinking and you're not looking. _Really_ looking... even she can see what you need to do..."

_She_?

There was a flicker of movement on his left, and he turned towards it...

"Oh, come _on... _you have got to be kidding me...", he gasped, his mouth hanging...

Miss Fox still leaned over the railing, levitating with apparent ease, but now, here was Jeannie - six years old by the look of her, making careful piles of earth on his chest.

"Hi, Mer..." said the see-through version of his little sister, and she continued piling and patting at the earth on his belly.

"You're right. They don't know you're here, so bring them here", the elderly lady explained calmly.

"Come on, Mer... help me, you know I love sandcastles...", said Jeannie happily, "I need a shovel.. do you have one?"

"No... t-time for this... go-go 'way...", his leg throbbed now, the pain was moving up his leg, soon it would be more than he could bear. His eyes closed.

"You need to listen to what we're telling you, Rodney, it's important..."

"Help me look for one, Mer! I'll tell Mom you won't help me... look in your bag"

The small roll of canvas was there, next to him. Anger bubbled up,

"I looked already! There's nothing in there of any use!", he spat out the words, becoming increasingly agitated.

"Look again"

Incensed, he flicked the almost spent cigarette away, and snatched up the roll, having every intention to throw it at either the old lady, or his horrid little sister. But instead he froze, his eyes falling upon a curious narrow plate, six inches long and clipped to the platform; the roll had been on top of it... it was flashing weakly.

He brought it into focus, which was hard because it was pretty much right in front of his nose; he felt his eyes cross. What he could see, though, was a schematic of the wall in front of him, the position of each platform indicated by a lit icon.

It was a control pad... for the platforms - they _moved_!

oOo

TBC and I do apologise... I was hoping to finish this tonight, but as usual my fics just seem to grow and have lives of their own. I don't want to rush the ending, so it's going to go on a litle longer than I intended. Most of it is written, though, so I'm hoping to post a chapter a day.

Happy Holidays everyone!xx


	6. Chapter 6

Just a short chapter today...

Chapter 6 : "Twinkle, twinkle little star.."

oOo

The friendly spirits had smug grins on their translucent faces, but rage ignited within Rodney, and really, he didn't have the energy for it.. _were they blind?_

"Look at me...", he indicated his trapped and bleeding limb, his voice high and scratchy, "If I move this platform, I'm as good as dead!"

Miss Fox's eyes raised themselves to heaven,

"Not this one, you dimwit, what about the _other_ ones? What about _that_ one?", she pointed at one that sat beyond the ditched planter and slightly higher up.

He laughed and it was a desperate sound, even to his own ears...

"How... _how_... can that help me? For God's sake, leave me in peace", his eyes closed, and he brought a shaking hand to his face. He felt empty... empty, bloodless and sick. His life was dripping away - literally - and there was no one here to help him... no one.

Her voice came again, echoing, hollow..."You need the controls for the water, don't you?... _Think..._"

So, with nothing better to do...

... he thought.

First of all, it was ridiculous, that these people were even here, figments of his imagination, conjured by an oxygen starved brain. Secondly, it was ridiculous that he would consider listening to them. But they _were_ here, and he _was_ listening to them.

Alright, so the deck moves... why would he want it to? Two options : It could come closer or it could move away... well, if it touched the platform he was on, then it was the end... he'd considered that scenario before, hadn't he. Okay, if it came towards him straight, all it would do is snag the line of the control pad and ...

Wait.

It might dangle closer.

He could reach it... reach it and call for help... maybe.

Sweat was stinging his eyes and his head ached fit to burst, but he knew he had to focus... it was the best chance he had. They didn't know what had happened to him or, more importantly, where he was; his transmitter would not work beneath the dome.

He discovered the slim pad that controlled the decks could be popped off and used remotely, and he spent long minutes studying it. It sat on his chest grasped between cold, numb fingers. The screen was brightly lit, which was a good thing as it was now full dark under the dome.

His two ethereal companions had gone. He was on his own.

Identifying a far platform on the display, that could hopefully do no harm, he pressed gently, sliding his finger across the shiny screen in the direction he wanted it to move. White lights twinkled in the wake of his finger, marking the path like tiny stars.

There was an immediate clanking noise, which startled him for a moment, then, craning his neck, he watched with new hope as this deck moved slowly across the surface of the dome, for about five feet. Elated now, he brought a digit to hover over the icon of the deck closest to him - the one he needed to bring nearer by about six feet.

He was breathing heavily, his heart racing. Sweat stung his eyes. He slid his finger as slowly as he could...

There... it was moving... but quickly, too quickly. In two seconds, the wire was snagged; the next second it was coming towards him. In his rush to catch the main controller, he fumbled the slim pad and it fell to the deck, with a clatter. His clammy hands grabbed at the hanging wire...

..._yes_, he had it!

The deck, now above him, had stopped dead, presumably as his finger had left the screen. He clutched the master control pad to himself, alternately laughing and sobbing, quite hysterically really.

_Get a grip, McKay_, he told himself severely, _not out of the woods yet. _

Blinking sweat and tears from his eyes, he worked the pad; he found he could interrupt the water flow, so he did it repeatedly... he just hoped someone was paying attention.

_Have faith_, he heard Miss Fox say...he almost dismissed it, but instead he put his faith in his friends - what could be the harm? - and hoped they would come looking for him soon and bring the rescue he so desperately needed.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your patience and interest!

A Little Note : I had a couple of reviewers mention the grammar and punctuation in my story. First of all, I welcome all kinds of feedback, so I thank them very much for taking the time to review. I write fanfic cos I just like to whump McKay, and I'm happy to share the whumpage with anyone who wants to read it! But I'm a lazy writer I'm afraid, and first to admit it. Most of the mistakes I make I am aware of, but it's just the way I write. All my other fic suffers from it too!

(I'm a 'divil' with the 'speech mark punctuation inside' thing!)

I hope it doesn't affect your enjoyment of the story. Who knows, one day I may reform... but until then, I invite you to accept my writing in the spirit in which it is offered... please keep reading... or not, as the case may be!

Once again, thanks for your input and Happy Holidays...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 : "Sleighbells ring... are ya listenin'?"

oOo

Radek entered his quarters at eight forty-two.

He smelled bad, really bad. How that fool of a Satedan had spilled a whole pint of beer over his head, was beyond him. He had been sitting at a table chatting with Carson, when Ronon passed behind him with a full glass... next thing he knew he was soaking wet with ale fizzing in his ears...

Of course, it had been an accident.

Yeah, right...

He tore off his uniform and ran into the shower so fast it had barely warmed up. He mentally set the temperature higher, willing it to be scorching. As the soothing water encased him in heat, he felt bunched muscles relax... tension melt away...

What the -

It had turned itself off. It had never done that before. He stood dripping for a couple of seconds. Then it was on again as if nothing had happened. Then, seconds later, nothing at all. Heat fluctuations were common, but he was pretty sure that 'nothing at all' meant a major malfunction, something that would probably have to be fixed that night. He groaned inwardly.

Oh, well, maybe he'd find Rodney and they could both look into it. No one had seen the scientist since the afternoon; Radek suspected he was dodging the festivities and was holed up somewhere with his feet up. After Radek's dousing in Athosian ale, he found he wasn't enjoying the party as much as he had been, and he relished the idea of being called away on a job.

He finished his shower as best he could, the water stream working in fits and starts.

He dressed quickly. After pulling on his boots, he changed his mind, shucked them off and tossed them aside; they might be doing some walking and his running shoes were in the lab, he'd wear them. Then he'd find the anti-social chief scientist and they'd go fix the problem.

He hurried from his quarters, and made for the lab, the most obvious place McKay would be. As he rounded a corner, he almost collided with a fast-moving, white blur...

Teyla...?

"Doctor," she was slightly out of breath, water gleamed on her honeyed skin and it was all Radek could do to concentrate. A fluffy white towel swaddled her from nape of neck to glistening knees; it was the stuff of fantasy.

Of all the things she could have said, she chose to break the silence with:

"Dr Zelenka you have no shoes on..", she observed calmly, and it was Radek who now felt embarrassed. His eyes dropped, and he pretended to be concerned about the growing puddle on the polished floor.

"I am unable to control the shower... it is on, then it is off, then it is on... I grow... weary of it.", said the Athosian with a small sigh.

"Yes... me too. I go to fix it now." Radek assured her, all the while shifting from one foot to the other as his socks became more and more soggy.

"Thankyou, Radek, I am not used to my shower playing music!"

He looked at her sharply then.

"What do you mean music?"

Teyla smiled sheepishly, "Not really music, you understand, Doctor, but _patterns_ like music..."

He wandered away without answering; wheels were turning, he found his palms were sweaty. He couldn't shake the feeling; something was wrong and warning bells were ringing in his head.

He touched his radio, and said, "Dr McKay, please respond..."

Trying several times, all he recieved was static.

He had shouted, "Rodney!", before he'd even passed through the doorway. Of course, the lab was deserted. Perhaps McKay was in his quarters getting ready after all, he told himself; but he believed nothing of the kind. He flipped on the light and went straight to the large closet at the back of the room. After moving a few bags and tools it became obvious that what he was searching for was not there.

_Strange_... he wandered across to the bench, deep in thought.

Crouching, he reached under and pulled out his missing running shoes.. something fluttered, caught his eye...

There - it had been hiding under one shoe; a scrap of paper. He recognised it from earlier... the reminder he'd left for Rodney. But something indefinable made him scramble, had him on all fours beneath the work bench to snatch it up. He turned over his own note, to find another one had been hastily written on the reverse:

**Out on a job**

**Save me some cake**

**RM**

An avalanche of thoughts rolled through his mind...

_Rodney called... not from the lab... fluctuations... missing bag... a signal - a call for help and...all this time he - where was he? what if he's hurt? we have to ... I need to find..._

Sheppard! He was there, up ahead and Radek almost cried with relief.

"Colonel.. ", he said, an edge to his voice that he told himself was not hysteria.

"Radek! You all washed up? Ronon's an ass -"

"Have you seen Rodney?", Radek blurted out.

Sheppard's expression changed; it was now mirroring Radek's own. It seemed he too sensed that something was wrong, and didn't waste any time.

"I haven't seen him. What's happened?", he asked quickly, jamming both hands into his pockets.

Radek felt his guilt like a weight around his neck.

"I think... I think he may be in trouble", and he soberly handed the note to Sheppard.

"Earlier tonight he radioed me, I think he may have wanted... a ladder. I didn't go to him like I should have, I thought he was in the lab, and I was not thinking...", he shook his head, he wished to God he could fix this, go back and help this time.

Sheppard was studying the note, a serious expression on his face.

"The plumb set is missing and the water is behaving... strangely.", went on Radek.

"Maybe he's just fixing it. He's making adjustments... there'd be disruptions, wouldn't there?", Sheppard said, obviously clutching at a straw or two.

"No", answered Radek, and now he felt one hundred per cent sure, "It's something else. I... feel it. It feels wrong"

And that was apparently enough for the colonel. He grabbed Radek's shoulder and propelled them both towards the control room.

"Radio?", the colonel snapped, as they strode down empty hallways.

"Already tried.", answered Radek.

"Then we'll use the sensors."

Two technicians had been left in charge of the glowing consoles, and one looked up as they came breezing in.

"Michaels, do a sweep for Dr McKay." Sheppard asked, without preamble.

"Yes, Sir"

There was a beep or two but the technician's face remained blank.

"He's not here...", Michaels said, sounding puzzled.

Radek's stomach did a flip.

"What do you mean he's not here?", demanded Sheppard.

"Well, he's either left Atlantis, which is highly unlikely, or he is in an area where our sensors are inoperable."

"Are there such areas?", Sheppard asked.

"Well, not that we know of, but it is possible that some places, as yet unexplored, have shielding of some kind.", Michaels explained.

The second technician who had been working behind them quietly, said, "Sir? The logs show there was a blockage in the system earlier tonight, the alarm was turned off manually from the main lab."

Radek and Sheppard looked at each other; Sheppard asked, totally unnecessarily, "McKay?", and Radek answered with a tight nod.

"So, he's in trouble.. in a shielded area of the city.. without radio contact.", Sheppard said.

Again Radek felt the weight of guilt upon him.

"But he is able to control the water systems", the scientist added.

"So, it's an area that's shielded and somewhere he can control water... a routing station?", asked Sheppard.

Radek brightened...

"There's one out east, we were there only a few weeks ago... remember? Rodney was with us...", he said, a hopeful smile growing.

"That's not shielded though, Sir..", Michaels pointed out.

"No, but that may have been where McKay started, and that makes it a good place for us to start... let's go...", barked Sheppard, already on his way out.

He turned back for a moment, and addressed the Czech scientist.

"... and Radek?"

"Yes?"

"Bring a ladder..."

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading. I'm so grateful for the reviews, they make it all worthwhile... Thankyou! xx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 6 : "Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is _you_!"

oOo

It's a small hand; the fingers have streaks of green ink on them. Well, Jeannie always loved her crafts. She rubs his hands like only a child would; with a grimace on her little face, putting her whole body behind it as she presses and wrings the cold flesh.

He shivers; he feels like stone, a cold stiff, block of stone, as chilled as the metal decking he lays on.

He thinks of the party... the drinking, the meaningless chit-chat. As much as he enjoys Christmas, socialising is still a huge strain. Atlantis has changed him... but not that much.

What he wouldn't give, though, to play the social butterfly right now; to hear Carson on his infernal instrument, have Teyla bring him egg nog, to drink so much his nose would go numb, or just sit in a corner unseen and watch as festive spirit wove its magic.

He's never wanted company so much in his life and it's a physical need, making his chest tight and his eyes sting.

"Shall we do it again, Mer?", asks Jeannie, ever hopeful.

He doesn't answer, thinks his silence should be enough. The dangling control pad is wedged under his left arm pit... it's been there a while. Jeannie wants him to use it again, but there's no feeling in his fingers and it's so cold. After attempting to signal for what seemed ages, he had used the interface to search out the blockage and easily completed a reset and flush of the defective line, so discharging his duty.

He thinks it's probably ten or eleven o'clock by now, and he can see a bright sprinkling of stars shining through the panes of the dome. There is still pain, but the numbness creeping up his body from his injured leg is dulling it, and he is thankful to some vague deity for that. He wonders if he should pray a bit, but he can't remember how and it seems a very desperate thing to do, seeing as how he's an atheist and all.

"Don't worry, kid, I'll say one for you", says Miss Fox, back again and with a fresh new cigarette bobbing at her painted lips.

Something moves across the sky beyond the dome, and he blinks, startled... it blanks out the stars as it crosses from east to west.

It's a jumper; it doesn't really register for a second or two... but then..

_Are they looking for me?_, he thinks.

"Is that so hard to believe? That they're looking for you?", asks Miss Fox from over the edge of her spectacles.

He closes his eyes...

Knowing it and believing it are two different things. John is his friend - so are the others. But he knows he deserves none of the loyalty they give him. He is a difficult man, a petty man... a man who has never had friends - real friends, anyway. It's so hard... letting them in... trusting them...

She interrupts him, then, with a sharp, "Look at me!"

He looks at her, and is surprised to see the spirit Jeannie lift her eyes too. Miss Fox has removed her glasses.

"You're a good man, Rodney. You've come so far, achieved so much. Always knew you would. But you're not the same, this place has changed you. Have faith, kid - in yourself and in your friends."

With the cigarette still smoking at her lips, she straightens, replaces the spectacles carefully, and smooths out her tweed skirt. She gives him a bleary stare.

"I always looked out for you, Rodney, but you don't need me any more. You have new people, new people to watch your back. Be happy, kid... see ya"

And with that, she is gone, leaving only a faint whispy cloud of tobacco smoke behind her. Jeannie turns to him, and twirls one pigtail around an inky finger. She pats his head with the other.

He tries to say, _Quit that!_ _I'm not a dog..._

"I have to go in a minute... I have things to do, you know", she says, sounding all uppity and reminding him of their mother.

"I don't want.. you t'go", he stammers - it's an effort to speak.

"Your friends annoy me, Mer. That big one - Conrad - he pulls my hair sometimes.."

_What is she waffling on about? That was years ago..._

"Grade fives are so stupid...", she says hotly.

She looks at him, seeing his confusion, and then shakes her head, exasperated...

"Your friends... they're coming and I want to go out on my bike"

Suddenly, she pins him with her piercing blue eyes, and a green tipped index finger waggles under his nose.

"You let them into my Barbies and you're dead, Meredith McKay!"

She's chewing at her lip, glancing here and there, and he has to admit it; she does look like she wants to go.

But he wants her to stay even more - is missing her already; wants her to stay.. and grow up.. and be his sister.. and forgive him for being the worst excuse for a brother the world has ever known.

She stares at him then, as if she has heard his thoughts. She says,

"You could just call me... I'm in the book"

He blinks at her, stupidly.

Her imaginary running shoes clatter, as she gets to her feet on the narrow platform. She turns those translucent blue eyes on him once again, and he's confused because even though she is standing there as if frozen, he could swear he still hears her feet pounding and thumping against the metal decking.

She smiles at him then, and it's the kind of sad smile you give someone, when you know you'll never see them again; full of regret and might-have-beens.

And when she disappears, leaving him alone, he has to stifle a sob... because his hands are that much colder, his heart that much emptier, and his rescue still feels so far away.

oOo

TBC and sorry for the delay. I agonised over this chapter... still not sure it's quite right.

I'd be grateful for any comments/suggestions on the tense change, too. Thanks! xx


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 : "Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the everlasting light..."

oOo

They raced across the open space, their footfalls echoing and pounding. Ronon and John, feet sliding on the slippery tiles... with Radek and Carson struggling along behind. There was a crash of metal and a curse as Radek dropped the ladder he'd been hauling. Carson huffed and puffed still carrying his heavy holdall. John couldn't hear the rest of the rescue team for the hammering of his heart.

They'd followed dusty footprints from the pumping station to this incredible place, the whole party halting for a second or two of wide-eyed awe. Then Ronon who had been searching the gloom with hooded eyes, had simply taken off running, without a word. It took a heartbeat of time, but then they all joined in and followed him out into the circular expanse.

As he ran, John could see the dome, shimmering above him... it was magnificent; but that was not his focus. His focus was a small point of light away against the far wall, just a few feet from the ground.

Several beams of wavering light converged there, as they turned their flashlights ahead of them.

One beam picked out a crumpled blue bag, on the ground, near to where the weak light shone.

Ronon was first there, of course, and John saw him simply stop, his eyes fixed on what was before him. In the flickering light he could make out a black metallic decking of some sort, long and narrow, maybe three or four feet from the ground. Ronon's flashlight reflected brightly off a shiny surface at one end of the deck.

By this time Sheppard had reached the Satedan's shoulder.

"Ronon, is...?", he panted, out of breath.

But Ronon didn't answer, his shadowy face was turned away, towards where his light still played.

Sheppard didn't need to finish his question, though, because in front of him was the body of their missing scientist. Laid out on the strange platform, flat on his back, unmoving. His face looked like wax, and with the starlight falling upon it, John thought it looked luminous. He felt within his chest an odd squeezing sensation, then a cold and terrible ache, as the realisation struck him that they were too late.

"Move, Colonel. Light... I need more light!", snapped Carson with an impatience that was unusual for the doctor, and John felt himself shoved aside.

He thought he should say something, stop the doctor from doing any more, tell him that it was all over... McKay was gone.

"No... Carson, don't...", his voice cracked. _Shit_... was that a sob? Was his throat closing up around his own unexpected emotions?

But it seemed Carson hadn't heard him, and he was already scrambling awkwardly over the rails to land as carefully as he could by the motionless man's side. Quick as a flash, the doctor had his ear pressed to Rodney's chest... he was perfectly still for a few seconds...

"Blankets! Now, please... and bring me - what _is_ that smell?", he asked, as an aside to no one in particular.

A nurse at Rodney's head grimaced by way of reply, shaking her head as if baffled. She then handed Carson the unspecified 'something' that he hadn't in fact asked for, and John took a second to marvel at Carson's hand picked team.

Ronon was sniffing too, his nose wrinkling.

John had a great-uncle who smoked. His mother wouldn't let Fred in the house, at Christmas he would sit freezing on the back porch, puffing away on those strange smelling things he was addicted to. They smelled... minty - sooty and gross of course, but minty.

John thought,_ Smoke... tobacco smoke?_

He came back to himself, to the babble of focussed voices, and he realised that in the space of about two minutes, the medical team had bared McKay's arms, attached several lines and had affixed an oxygen mask to his face.

Hope leapt within him.

"He-he's alive?", and again his voice cracked and wavered, making him feel foolish.

"Course he's alive!", snapped back Carson. "You leave the doctoring to me, lad... they're only dead when I say they're dead"

The doctor was on his knees facing down Rodney's torso, and John thought he looked like he was playing Twister. One hand was by the scientist's knee, supporting his weight as he leaned over, and the other held a penlight.

He inhaled sharply, and cursed.

"Nasty...", was all he said.

What the doctor could see was that Rodney was pinned, trapped by a heavy box across his leg. The glint of white bone could be seen, and there was blood - a lot of blood, on the mesh surface of the deck and on the floor beneath. John looked up to see Ronon staring at him.

"We'll have to move this", rumbled the big man, his face hard but betraying his concern.

John just nodded, he was watching Rodney's face for any sign of life.

"Radek? Bring that...", and he pointed at the aluminum ladder at the scientist's feet.

They set it up against the wall, at the box end of the platform.

Beckett craned his neck to see what was going on, "I have to stabilise him first... there'll be no movin' him yet.", he warned.

"I know, doc, we're just seeing what we're dealing with here", answered Sheppard, already climbing the ladder.

He shone his flashlight at the box; it was an old plant trough, from what he could see, and the remains of plant material and earth were strewn around the decking, under it, and even on McKay himself. He sniffed at it suspiciously, and it occurred to John that maybe this was what they could all smell when they had first arrived.

It was going to be one heck of a job to lift this. Maybe a lever would work, he mused; the box would only have to be lifted a small amount, and then they could slide the injured man out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Beckett muttering. He saw the medic squirm a little and reach under himself, looking iritated.

"What is jammin' into my bones?", he complained, as he pulled something out and held it up. It was a small black tablet, shiny and flickering with tiny points of light.

"Here, Radek, what d'ya make o' that?", he said handing it to the scientist, who was standing nearby.

Radek took it enthusiastically, moved away a little and began to examine it closely.

"Alright, I need to get down to that leg... watch yerselves, people...", said Carson, as he began to climb nervously back over the railing, "Janine, keep an eye on his pressure, I don't like it.. " Then he nodded across at John.

"Colonel, change places with me... in case he wakes up"

It was cramped on the platform, and Sheppard was worried that he would hurt the injured man just by being there. He had longer legs than Carson, and he folded them beneath him with difficulty. There were IV bags hanging on make-shift clips attached to the rails; they went into Rodney's hands, and inner elbow, and snaked across his blanket-swaddled chest. A blood pressure cuff was on one arm, and a nurse standing on ground level at his head was checking it.

He heard Radek say, "It moves the platforms - I think..."

John looked up, "The platforms move?"

Suddenly, a hand fisted in his shirt front, and John allowed himself to be pulled closer to the pale face of the scientist.

"Don't... move the platforms..", said the barely conscious McKay, his hand shaking. Gently, Sheppard uncurled the clenched fingers, making some kind of indefinable _shushing_ noise. "It's alright, we know what we're doing, okay? Trust me." He laid the cold hand down, to rest over the scientist's heart, but he continued to hold the clammy flesh.

Rodney's eyes had closed.

"Jeannie? 's at you?", he asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"No, it's Sheppard... John", he corrected, carefully rubbing at the limp hand under his own.

"What time is it?"

This was unexpected, but he turned his wrist and answered the question with,

"It's eleven eighteen... still Christmas Eve."

"I feel... like crap", was the mumbled response.

John allowed himself a small smile.

"I know... you look like it too. Need anything?", he asked,

Then he watched as Rodney did a strange thing. With one clumsy hand he pushed aside his mask. The other hand he brought very purposefully to his lips. It almost looked like he held an imaginary something in his fingers. He gave a long and ragged sigh, added a little cough, and said,

"Got a light?"

John just stared.

oOo

TBC and thanks for being patient... life is busy! Happy New Year everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 : "I wish it could be Christmas every day!"

oOo

A gurney was brought up and positioned to the left of the platform, along the wall, at the same level Rodney lay on. After the cigarette episode, the injured man had thankfully drifted off, mumbling something about foxes, of all things.

They had easily removed the rail directly behind his head; although they'd brought cutting equipment with them, it was not needed, as the small panel simply popped out under the correctly applied pressure.

John watched as, with a concentrated grunt, Ronon put his weight to the crowbar he was leaning on. As the huge and heavy box was lifted, several pairs of hands smoothly pulled the doctor free, and slid him backwards onto the gurney. It was Carson though, who immediately reassessed and swiftly bandaged the leg injury.

The man on the gurney gasped, then whimpered.

"Easy, lad... just hold on now", wheels were unlocked, rails were lifted and blankets tucked in.

"Carson... how's he doing?", asked Sheppard, with concern evident in his voice. Carson was hurriedly packing the gurney with all the bags and equipment Rodney was hooked up to; it was a fair sized heap.

"Let's get him back first - and with all haste, people, please."

They sped back through the chilly hallways. John, Radek and Ronon propelled the unconscious scientist, and Dr Beckett scuttled along at the side trying to maintain his observations of his patient. Some of the interior lighting had been activated from the control room, which was a blessing, but the heating remained off, so the place still felt icy as a tomb to John.

It was most definitely now after midnight and John spared a thought for the day that had just begun...

.._Merry Christmas, Rodney_.

oOo

Foxes were _not_ friendly. He had come to this conclusion quite quickly. This fox, although cute and cuddly-looking with a huge fluffy tail, was worrying him now. At first, when it came trotting up to affectionately curl up at his feet, he was delighted... animals didn't like him as a rule, so this was special... adorable, even. Its soft body was a warm blanket for his toes, and he revelled in the comfort that brought.

But now it was looking at him - no, more than that, it was staring at him. Rodney didn't like the red of its eyes, hadn't noticed its sharp yellow teeth until now. It began to growl very softly...

He shivered, he didn't feel warm any more. He tried to slide backwards - maybe it would simply let him go...

Instead, it very delicately took the hem of his pant leg between its teeth and to Rodney's horror the beast slid the fabric up, so baring his right leg to the knee; it looked very white and... defenceless.

He started saying, "No, no, no...", over and over because he knew what was going to happen next. He struggled to move away, but his body was not his own, and all he could do was watch as the animal opened its slavering jaws...

Now he shut his eyes and screamed, _"No, no, no..!",_ and finding he could move his left leg, he kicked with all his might, again and again, feeling bones crunch, flesh split... blood spatter and spray.

He was sobbing, sobbing and kicking and screaming, but the pain in his right leg just grew and grew.

Then he opened his eyes and saw that he wasn't kicking the fox after all, he was kicking and smashing his own leg... it was a sickening mess of blood and bone and gore.

He gagged; sucked in a breath and choked... gagged again, and this time felt a wave of nausea that would not be ignored.

He heard someone say, "Grab him! Bloody hell.. this is all we need.." , and his flailing leg became caught up in something and it was just too tiring to fight against. He felt his body go limp, felt the pain lessen, felt the touch of hands on him. His sickness rolled over him like a wave, and evaporated leaving him feeling giddy and weak.

There was a loud rush of noise in his head, like distant sirens in a rainstorm. It was deafening and hurt his ears.

He made an attempt at speech just to see if he could hear it: he couldn't.

Somebody else did though, because through the white noise, he heard, "Don't talk, son, everythin's fine. Lie still, now."

The rushing in his ears died down, until all he could hear was the sound of his own laboured breathing and a soft beeping.

No wicked growling, no bones crunching; _thank God_, he thought, the fox had gone.

oOo

"So, what was with the smoking?", asked Sheppard.

"A dream, I guess...", answered Rodney, looking away.

Well, it wasn't really a lie; he had been dreaming at least some of it. Jeannie had not been a... spirit.

Jeannie was alive and kicking. She was listed as his next of kin, and Elizabeth had spoken to her on a special link-up, when he hadn't been doing so well.

But the enigmatic Miss Fox? For some reason, she'd been different... for some reason, she felt more than a figment of his imagination.

"You know, I could smell smoke when we first got to you..", Carson pointed out from across the room. He was rooting through cabinets and adding items to a small tray.

"He was delirious... the smell was from the planter, wasn't it? It brought up a memory and his subconscious did the rest.", Sheppard dismissed it with a wave of his hand and looked unimpressed.

Rodney said nothing and pointedly looked away. Surreptitiously he peaked sideways at the colonel, who, he found was watching him through shrewdly narrowed eyes.

"Something's eating you, McKay. You going to tell me now or tell me later? It's only a matter of time, buddy", stated Sheppard folding his arms, as if settling in for the long haul.

_Crap_, he really did want to tell someone, it was driving him crazy.

"You'll only laugh at me...and it's really not worth it."

Rodney could see Carson coming over with a tray of gauze and bandages.

"Try me", prodded Sheppard.

As Carson began checking his leg dressings, Rodney took a deep breath, _here goes..._

"Well, I-I was... visited by - a spirit."

There was an unbelievably long silence:

"A spirit...!", exploded Sheppard with a large guffaw.

Carson had stopped what he was doing and was now staring in open disbelief at his patient.

Rodney bristled and, turning, pointed straight at Carson.

"Oh, thankyou, Colonel! Now _he'll_ pack me off to see Kate... in a straight jacket!", Rodney was horrified to feel his cheeks burning.

Sheppard was sitting on the next bed shaking his head slowly, a huge grin on his face.

"And I guess this spirit was a forty-a-day kinda guy...", he quipped.

_Oh, ha-ha..._

Time for some damage control...

He drew himself up in bed, in a vain attempt to look both menacing and important.

"Look, don't get the wrong idea... I-I categorically do _not_ believe in goblins, ghosts or any other creatures of - of _creepiness_, okay? It just _seemed_ like a spirit, that's all. I was delirious, for God's sake... like _he_ said", and, again, he jabbed an accusing finger over at his friend.

"..and _he's_ a doctor."

There was a moment or two of silence... then,

"Well, I'm going... see you all tomorow..", Sheppard said abruptly and jumped to his feet, already on his way out.

"Wait... wait! You're not going to _tell_ everyone are you?", Rodney asked frantically. Sheppard lay a finger on his chin; he tapped it thoughtfully.

"Well, let's see... ', he said at last, "..not _everyone_, no."

oOo

Sheppard had gone and there were no more visitors for Rodney. Truth be known, though, he was glad; his injury just days ago had left him weak and sickly. The complicated break in his tibia had required a lengthy surgery and titanium pins to repair. He didn't think a broken bone could hurt so much, and even with the strong pain killers Carson had prescibed, the pain was reduced to a dull ache that was impossible to ignore.

He realised listlessly that Carson was talking:

"With me, it's ma Auntie Violet. She always had a soft spot for me. She passed on ten years ago...", Carson sighed and gazed off into the distance.

"What are you going on about, Carson? Sometimes I think you're cracked..."

The doctor turned back to his patient and checked the IV that was slowly dripping into Rodney's arm.

"...she's been with me ever since.", he added casually.

A kind of startled squeak was all that Rodney could manage at first. Then he said,

"What...? Don't tell me you believe in - in -...", and he just couldn't finish, so ludicrous was the idea that this man of science believed in what were really nothing more than benevolent white-clad pixies...

.. with wings.

Carson gave him a clear and level look, "Go on, say it, Rodney... _angels_? The word is too flowery for ma taste, but - yes, I do believe in... guardian spirits"

Rodney really tried, but he could not close his mouth; it just hung open.

"I'm... just.. ", and his head shook from side to side, "... in shock."

It was as if, after years of believing the world was round, he had watched someone trip on a shoe lace and fall off the edge...

"Look, she wasn't an... angel, Carson. I was _hallucinating_."

How many times did he have to say it?

"Who was she, then... this _hallucination_?", asked Carson, and he plonked himself down on the adjacent bed, arms folded stiffly.

"Oh, just a neighbour... actually she was a friend, I guess. She talked to me.. my parents were often busy.. with Jeannie, you know. She... ah... looked out for me."

"Took ya under her wing, so to speak?", asked Carson, carefully.

"Yeah.. I guess she did, she - Hey! That's not fair, that's not what I meant!"

Carson chuckled, good-naturedly though and his smile was apologetic.

"Sorry, ma friend. I couldn'a resist. I'm a physician, Rodney, I'm there at the beginning, and I'm there at the end. I've had a lot of occasion to question these kind of things. Still, though, I'm inclined to agree with my Granny... 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio...'"

"What?"

"She liked Shakespeare!", shrugged Carson, with a gleam in his eye.

oOo

Incredibly, the dome was even more stunning now than it had been the night he had first seen it. Well, maybe it was the lights... strings of them draped here, there and everywhere. In the centre of the circle a tree had been placed; a new one, as the one from the mess hall was too tiny for a space such as this. One of the nurses had told him Major Lorne and Teyla had gone out to cut it.

"We never got to it...", Elizabeth had said, when he'd asked how the party had gone, that fateful Christmas Eve.

"What d'you mean never got to it?"

"Well... the party more or less broke up... around nine? Nine-thirty?"she looked questioningly at Teyla, who simply nodded in the affirmative. She'd smiled at him then, but knit her brows at the same time, like she was a little embarrassed.

"You were missing, Rodney... probably hurt... did you really think anyone could carry on?"

Well, apparently the answer was no, and the party was put on ice... literally, put on ice; everything got slammed in the freezer.

And now, almost a week later it was Christmas Eve Mark Two, and here they were where it all happened. People were still arriving, fetching drinks, chatting noisily.

He had been given a really splendid wheel chair; wide and comfy and with a special prop for his gammy leg. Sheppard had parked him next to the food, which was nice, as his appetite was beginning to come back. It was an ideal place to lie low, sip on a soda and watch the world go by.

Now, then, who do we have here? Radek and Ronon. Looks as though Ronon's brought a drink for Radek - that's nice... wait though, the plucky Czech doesn't want it; he's saying something to the Satedan, who for his part is acting all innocent with his hands up. Have to ask Teyla about that... oh, look... they made up... toasting each other's health. _Aw_...

Uh-oh, marines; lock up your daughters and hide the chocolate. Maybe they wouldn't see him... no, too late, they were coming over...

Much hand shaking and shoulder slapping ensued, leaving him touched but baffled.

Well, that was... nice.

In the past he shunned people; people were unreliable, not worth bothering with. His fellow man never figured highly in his life before. But all that had changed.

It was these marines, with Teyla, who went out in teams and checked the other areas of the city in case the pumping station had not been his destination.

Pilots, like the ones arriving now, scrambled into jumpers, and scoured the city by eye, trying to find something, anything that would point them to his location.

He knew technicians who'd gone over screen after screen of logs to find any clue to his whereabouts, whilst Elizabeth coordinated the rescue from the control room.

It was these people who did not rest until he was found

_Have faith, Rodney,_ Miss Fox had told him, and he considered it good advice. These people, strangers to him at first, had slowly but surely become his unfailing support network... how could he ever have doubted them?

More importantly, would he ever doubt them again?

Well, the answer was, _no_, a resounding, _no_.

Let life throw at him what it pleased; he would fight back with all he had, and he wouldn't be alone.

He lifted his plastic cup, and with a small smile whispered, "Merry Christmas Atlantis..."

oOo

"Through the years

we all will be together,

If the fates allow,

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough,

And have yourself a Merry Little Christmas now."

The End

oOo

Wow, it's finished!!!!

But sorry about the bad timing! This was always meant to be wrapped up before Christmas, hence the festive verse at the end.

Thanks, you guys, for being with me the whole way and sharing my love of Rodney whump. Special hugs to Trish and Val who've supported me since I began writing fanfic... you always keep me going!

Once again, Happy New Year everyone - and stay well!


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